


Shyraghym

by uumuu



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Father/Son Incest, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 16:31:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6159706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uumuu/pseuds/uumuu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fëanor and Maedhros's love outgrows boundaries, little by little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shyraghym

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thanks to amyfortuna for betaing this!
> 
> I started writing this months ago as a fill to this [prompt](http://silmarillionkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/1329.html?thread=112433#cmt112433).

A single lamp lit above the bed cast its faint glow over the pillows, catching the copper of Maitimo's hair. Fëanáro wasn't surprised to find him in his room. Maitimo's nightly visits were an ordinary thing, and seeing his sleeping form instantly relieved his tiredness. He closed the door as quietly as possible and tiptoed to the bathroom, where he changed out of his work clothes and refreshed himself. Back in the bedroom, he crept to the bed and tried to get into it without rousing Maitimo. 

Maitimo's face, however, twitched when Fëanáro lifted the covers. His eyes blinked open. Recognising his father, he smiled and held his arms out towards him. 

“It must be terribly late,” he slurred.

“Sorry to have woken you,” Fëanáro gently said, and lay down in his son's embrace. 

Many years had passed since the night Maitimo had pattered into that room in tears, upset by the furious gusts which rattled the windows and whistled in every crack, and begged to sleep with him. Afterwards, he had quickly fallen into a habit of making himself comfortable in his father's bed whenever he wished, unannounced and with no excuses offered. Fëanáro had never asked any. He had never asked why he did it, much less turned him away. He had missed his father's comfort right when he would have needed it the most, and the fact that Maitimo liked to come to him - and was happy - was all that mattered.

Maitimo cuddled so close to him that their bodies were practically glued to each other.

Fëanáro had found the position uncomfortable at first, even if Maitimo had been a typical child with nothing to suggest he would grow as much as he had. Nowadays it not too rarely ended up with him being half-smothered under Maitimo's larger body by morning, but he was so used to it that he didn't even stir in his sleep. He combed his left hand through Maitimo's hair, trying to smooth it back, but soon gave up and settled on simply caressing his head instead. 

“You've been working all this time?”

“I started a new project. Something entirely novel.”

Maitimo snickered merrily. “Whenever is something you make not a novelty?”

“I'll show you as soon as I get to a more advanced stage.”

“You should be thinking about making a bigger bed for me.”

“You already have –”

“Here I mean.”

Fëanáro's bed was large enough, but it was only average length, and Maitimo's growth showed no signs of arresting anytime soon.

Fëanáro smiled and kissed his cheek. “As you wish.”

Maitimo bumped their foreheads together, then drew his head back – not too far back – and closed his eyes again, mumbling 'love you'.

*

Maitimo woke up suddenly to the unusual sensation of his father wriggling against him. 

Fëanáro was always careful to disentangle himself from Maitimo's hold without too much jerking if he needed to leave before Maitimo awoke, and the faint silvery light seeping through the curtains assured the young elf that it was still too early for his father to go. 

“Is something wrong?” he drowsily mumbled. 

“No. It's just –” Fëanáro sighed. He didn't want to upset Maitimo, but after trying to free his legs once more, unsuccessfully, he resigned himself to tell him what the matter was, though he endeavoured to speak as gently as he could. “...your erection is poking my thigh.”

“Oh –” Maitimo's eyes shot open. It only took him a split second to confirm that what his father had said was true – that he was hard as a rock and, what was worse, that he was rubbing himself right against his father's thigh. He jerked back. “...Sorry,” he said, thoroughly mortified. 

Fëanáro snorted softly and stretched his now free legs. “No need to be, it's a perfectly normal reaction to physical contact at your age,” he said, sliding closer to Maitimo again. He caressed Maitimo's cheek with the back of his hand, until the frown disappeared from Maitimo's face and his lips relaxed into a sheepish smile.

“Were you dreaming of...someone you like?” 

The question straggled into silence, as if Fëanáro regretted having asked it. His father's hesitancy wasn't lost on Maitimo, but he was too preoccupied with his own embarrassment to dwell on it.

“...no. I'm not really interested in anybody,” he replied, indifferently. There were a few men he found attractive, but none had ever managed to capture his attention in a significant or lasting manner.

“It's all right if you do...I had already had you at your age.”

“I promise –” Maitimo stuttered, wincing, “I promise I won't come here any more after I turn fifty, but until then –”

“Oh no, that's not what I meant. You can come here for as long as you wish,” Fëanáro denied, dismayed that Maitimo could interpret his attempt to reassure him as an attempt to drive him away. “Don't you want to take care of that?”

“It's okay –”

“You should never be ashamed of your body's needs. It's not a problem to me.” 

Maitimo wouldn't have wanted to leave the bed, but he knew that if he remained like that it would be uncomfortable, so he reluctantly stood up and headed towards the bathroom.

Hours later, he was still tossing and turning in the bed, unable to fall asleep. 

His father rested peacefully. Maitimo had cuddled close to him after he had returned from the bathroom, listening to his father's breathing settling as he slipped into sleep, but after a while his body had stirred again, and he had retreated to the other side of the bed before he could disturb him. 

He bit his lower lip. In spite of what his father had said, he was deeply troubled by his body's unruliness. He knew, of course, that a young man of his age wasn’t supposed to sleep in his father’s bed. But he had never experienced anything like that before, not even after he had started growing into a man. The slightest stimulation had been enough to excite him beyond control, and he couldn't understand why it would happen now. He thought that maybe if he had sex with somebody his lust would settle and whatever was causing his untimely erections would disappear. 

Finding a partner wasn't hard. He had made many friends in his classes as well as among Palace attendants, and all of them seemed to be taken with his beauty – and his station in equal measure. He wasn't interested in the girls. He had never been. He had asked his mother if it was strange, or wrong, for him not to, and she had replied that she knew of many people who were only attracted to people of their own sex, just as there were some who were attracted to both, and some to none at all. 

The young man he chose, the son of a Palace scribe a year his senior, didn't seem to find his preference strange, either. Maitimo took him to his own bedroom, which was wide and tidy – unlike his father's study-bedroom, cluttered with all manner of books and tools as well as sundry not-easily-identifiable objects to the point of being stifling – but he was so unused to sleeping there that it also felt drearily cold.

Not even his partner's eagerness could fully dispel his uneasiness. The young man was clearly not inexperienced, and overjoyed to be there with him. They undressed each other and sat on the bed, slowly stroking each other to orgasm. Maitimo found pleasure in the act and a lustful thrill coursed through him when the young man licked his seed from his fingers. Yet there was no lasting satisfaction, nothing more rewarding than a temporary fulfilment. 

He repeated the encounters for a few days, but the outcome didn't change, and he became so frustrated that he decided to put an end to them. Besides, he didn't want to instil any vain hope of commitment in his companion, and he missed sleeping with his father. 

*

He went back to his father's room on a cloudy night, and waited awake for most of the night, but his father didn't come. At first he put it down to his work, then remembered that his mother had finally completed her work on the sculptures for a fountain in one of the parks of the town. Which meant his father and she would sleep together for as long as their respective work schedules allowed, and that a new sibling might be on the way. 

The thought didn't upset him as it might have before. He had been afraid of losing his parents' love to his younger brother after Macalaurë had been born, but both Fëanáro and Nerdanel had been acutely aware that he might – Fëanáro for having spent his whole childhood battling with a crushing fear of loss, and Nerdanel for being a younger sister to an older sister who hadn't been happy at all, at first, to have to share her parents. His apprehension had come to naught, because Macalaurë had been an exceptional child, precociously showing an affinity for music. He had never been upset by storms, and as soon as it had become clear that his talent went beyond what was normal for boys his age, he had been entrusted to the care of first the best tutors to be found in Tirion and then to Vanyarin masters who were summoned from Valmar itself.

Now Macalaurë was growing into a shrewd adolescent with self-confidence and poise to spare, and Maitimo and he had become more than brothers or friends, sharing the sort of complicity that blood ties alone didn't necessarily nurture. The same could very well happen with Tyelcormo, who was still just a child and beginning to learn their father's letters along with numbers and the most basic notions of Eldarin history, and with whatever new baby would arrive. 

Yet Maitimo was sure that the many nights he had spent lying next to his father – the tenderness he had been showered with, the certainty that he would always be welcome in his father's room, even if all he wanted to do was cling to him in his sleep – were to thank for his self-confidence. He chewed on his lower lip and laid his head on his father's pillow, inhaling the scent it was impregnated with. 

Sharing someone's bed meant seeing them at a time when they were completely unguarded. He had come to know Fëanáro not merely as father, but as a man, with his quirks, his most annoying habits, and his foibles. And another truth was beginning to take root in him: that he could never love anybody else as much as he loved his father. 

*

“Nelyo.”

The gentle voice washed over him like a breeze. Maitimo's brow creased and he opened his eyes to see his father's face inches from his own. 

“I thought you were with Mom,” he blurted, before reticence and modesty could take hold of his hazy consciousness.

Fëanáro straightened and his expression became somewhat wistful. “She has left.”

“Left?” Maitimo echoed, raising his head from the pillow.

“A message arrived from Aulë's Halls just after dinner. Her cousin has found out she is with child, but it is feared the pregnancy will prove difficult, and her mother wants her to ride there as quick as she can to be with her.” 

Maitimo nodded with guilt-imparted vigour for the relief he had felt upon learning that he wouldn't have to share his father for a while: Nerdanel's youngest cousin had had a miscarriage during her first pregnancy. 

Fëanáro slipped his legs under the covers and reclined in front of Maitimo, drawing his own pillow to almost overlap with his son's. “I'll have to deal with her latest patron, too,” he huffed.

“I can handle them,” Maitimo offered – it wouldn't be the first time he had dealt with somebody on his parent's behalf. “Who is it?”

“That pompous guy who has recently been named head of the Royal Treasury, he wants a statue to celebrate his newfangled renown.” Fëanáro scrunched his nose, in a way which underscored the distaste already evident in his words. “...you really don't mind?”

“It's okay. Nobody can resist me,” Maitimo said with a grin. 

Fëanáro ruffled his hair and kissed him on the forehead. Maitimo laughed and twined the fingers of his right hand with those of his father's left.

“...I missed you,” he muttered.

“Well, you didn't show up for a while. I thought –...I thought you had gotten tired of sleeping here, after all.”

“No –” Maitimo began, but faltered. He debated whether to tell his father about his short-lived escapade or not. He didn't keep much from his father – he had, more importantly, never lied to him – and he quickly decided that if he did that now, it would sit on his conscience. He would feel like he had betrayed his father. “I-...tried to have sex with a friend. We fooled around a bit in my room,” he said, lowering his eyes to the bedsheets while he spoke.

There was no barrage of questions, no apparent reaction. Maitimo's eyes darted up again. His father's face was completely blank. Maitimo had learnt, over the years, that it rarely meant his father was uninterested or unaffected. It was on the contrary his most common reaction when something unexpected troubled him and he didn't want to give away his state of mind while he tried to process it. 

“Was it nice?” Fëanáro asked after a rather long interval, and Maitimo could tell that it wasn't what he really wanted to know. 

“Yes, but...nothing special,” he replied. He was still unsure how to qualify the sort of half-hearted gratification he had experienced. “We only touched each other. Nothing more.”

“...Will you be seeing this person again?”

“It's a man. You know the scribe in charge of official records? Her son.” 

Fëanáro nodded, stiffly. It was that evident sign of discomfort which convinced Maitimo to risk his next question, because it didn't look like his father cared that the other person was a man and the way he had tensed up rather reminded Maitimo of the hesitancy he had displayed when he had asked Maitimo if he was in love with someone.

“Are you...jealous?” he said in a light tone, trying to turn the question into something of a joke.

His father took it seriously, and there followed one more long empty pause. 

“It's...normal that one day you will find someone to share your life with. But yes, I'm jealous. ...a bit,” Fëanáro finally replied.

“What if I don't?” Maitimo pressed, gladdened by Fëanáro's avowal, and even more by the fact that Fëanáro, probably unconsciously, clutched his hand tighter.

“I told you I would be happy to have you with me forever. ...will you be seeing this person again?”

“I don't think so.”

“Will you try the same with someone else?”

“No –” Maitimo's lips curled in a grimace at the mere thought. “I just -...it's my erections when I'm here. They are...inconvenient. I wanted to make them go away.”

“I can take care of them for you,” Fëanáro said, offhand. “Would you mind that?”

Maitimo later reflected that he should have given the suggestion more careful, more thorough consideration, expressed doubt over its propriety at least – at least feigned it. But with a genuine lack of reticence, and a sudden rush of something that felt revealingly like elation he replied 'no'.

*

Maitimo later also wondered if his father had made the suggestion in one of his spur-of-the-moment whimsies which he would afterwards forget or reconsider. 

Fëanáro did neither, for three days later, when Maitimo signalled his need to him without any of the shame he had thought he would feel, Fëanáro wordlessly slipped a hand to his groin, took his stiff cock out and fondled it, in gentle but unhesitating strokes. Maitimo came predictably swiftly, but the sensation was so intense it left his mind swathed in pleasure even after it had washed away from his body.

After his shiftless experimentation with the scribe's son, he had concluded that something so simple as touch couldn't bring the contentment sex was supposed to. Yet there he was, almost in tears for joy. He had to force himself to unclench his hands from around the sheets, because he would have gladly remained in that state, frozen in perfect euphoria, forever. 

Fëanáro had gone the bathroom to wash his hand and presently came back with a towel to clean him too. There was no awkwardness in that either. Fëanáro wiped his softening cock, the lower part of his belly, and between his thighs with the same gentleness and care with which he had cleaned his scratches and bruises as a child.

The fondling all too soon became a routine, almost a ritual. At one point Maitimo took to stroking himself while his father changed into his night clothes if he happened not to be aroused, because he didn't want to go without his father's touch. 

He didn't feel any guilt about it. And he knew they were treading delicate ground; he knew they were crossing a line. Yet he couldn't bring himself to stop, trade the immoderate happiness he felt back for righteousness.

Fëanáro too became gradually bolder, and as night after night passed he didn't just stroke his cock, fisting it or lazily sweeping his fingers all over it. He started touching his nipples at the same time, sneaking his hand under his shirt, or sat between his legs and used both hands on his crotch, the one working on his shaft while the other skilfully fondled his sack and the sensitive skin below.

It grew from simple release to unhurried rounds of drawn out, indulgent enjoyment that were but a sampling of everything else that Maitimo now wanted. After a few days he didn't even need to use his hands to make himself hard. He only had to imagine his father naked, as he had sometimes seen him, sweaty from the forge or just emerging from a bath. He pictured his father writhing under him, with pleasure that he would give him, fondling and licking, and – what enticed Maitimo the most – kissing him. 

And then one night Fëanáro, while leisurely suckling on his left nipple, offered to bring him to orgasm with his mouth. 

Maitimo eagerly consented, at once atingle with anticipation, for the novelty as for the special intimacy of the act. Fëanáro let go of the nub giving it a playful bite that made Maitimo's left shoulder twitch. Then he crawled between Maitimo's legs and crouched there. He pulled Maitimo's sleeping pants down, tossing them to the side, and wrapped his right hand around the sizeable girth of Maitimo's erection.

He looked up before beginning. They shared a look of deep, long-standing affection, and understanding.

Maitimo propped himself on his elbows, to better watch as Fëanáro's head descended between his spread thighs, as Fëanáro's lips closed around the tip of his cock, and slid down and back up. 

Fëanáro glanced up again, keenly gauging his reaction. Maitimo's face tightened for a moment, and his eyes widened, pleasure and joy pooling in them. Fëanáro was satisfied with that, and his mouth descended again, going lower and lower, until Maitimo was sure he would see all of his cock disappear inside his father's mouth. And he did, even if only for a moment. After that, he began thrashing erratically, unable to control himself, entranced by the heat and wetness and the ravenous tenderness of it. Fëanáro didn't falter once through it, never pulled back, not even when Maitimo shoved into his throat, arching off the bed, and not when he suddenly shot his seed inside it. 

Maitimo's chest rose and fell deeply while his father drank him down, thirstily lapping up every last drop of his seed. Maitimo fell back on the bed and covered his eyes with the back of his hands while his father's lips dragged over his cockhead and finally released him. He giggled.

“What?” Fëanáro asked, gliding over his body to lie next to him again, skin to skin in love and bliss.

Maitimo lowered his arms, and turned to face him. “...I was thinking that what we have just done puts us on the wrong side of the Valar's laws -”

“The Valar's laws are the Valar's, not ours,” Fëanáro countered, trenchant.

Maitimo gave a cheeky grin. He knew – very well – what his father's stance on the intervention of the Valar in private matters was (it was, in fact, a subject that was more widely debated than anybody would have been comfortable admitting, because many had chosen not to forget that there had existed no concept of incest or monogamy before Aman), though it was his own desire which finally made him understand that aversion in full. In no circumstance would he have considered what he had done – and what he wanted to do – with his father a sin. He rolled over and lay atop him. 

“I daresay it's obvious that I agree,” he said, combing both hands through his father's raven locks, reveling in their velvety smoothness. “What I was trying to say is that what we've been doing puts us on the wrong side of the Valar's laws, but also makes the Valar look definitely silly, does it not? They who do not recognise any import to such bliss, and think they can regulate it.”

He paused, and waited for his father to nod before going on.

“I thought -...I thought I was weird, for not caring about finding a partner when my friends all seem to be taken with the...intricacies of love – wooing, trysts...marriage,” he wrinkled his nose, “but it is natural, because I couldn't have a greater love.”

“Nelyo,” Fëanáro whispered, looking at Maitimo with the full force of that love.

Maitimo returned the stare, then closed the distance between them and started pressing quick, tender kisses all over his father's face. 

*

It took Maitimo little persuasion to convince his father to take him, but Fëanáro was adamant that they should not rush it. Fëanáro therefore spent three more nights preparing him, working his fingers in his ass, teaching him how to loosen up and how to use his breathing to help with it, adding warnings that Maitimo knew by heart by the time he was straddling his father naked and slicked, his opening hovering above his father's beautiful engorged cock.

He had been tempted to take it into his mouth, worship it with lips and tongue it as his father had his own, but the desire to have his father inside him was much stronger. He wiggled his hips, feeling the tip of his father's cock tickle his opening.

Fëanáro's hands settled on his hips. “Don't pull away too fast if –”

“Yes yes –...I know,” Maitimo cut him short impatiently, seized by trepidation coupled with the maddening need to have all of his father at once. His palms were sweaty against Fëanáro's shoulders, and he could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. More than the thorough preparation he had received, it was the sensation of his father's hands on his waist – steadying and soothing him – that assured him that all would go well. He tentatively lowered himself, and his father's erection nudged his opening.

“Don't hold your breath,” Fëanáro had to remind him. 

Maitimo blushed and cursed inwardly when he realised he had tensed despite being confident that he wouldn't. He exhaled slowly and inhaled again. He pushed down and out, and the head of his father's cock pressed closer, won the resistance of his muscles, and slipped inside him. Maitimo's eyes widened as his rim closed around the the shaft, holding it in. He took one more deep, long breath and lowered himself further, until his father was more than halfway in, and lower, stopping only when he had almost sunk to the base, at which point he gave a sharp sob and wrapped his arms around Fëanáro's neck.

“Nelyo –”

“Just hold me,” he said in a muted voice, trying not to move any other part of his body besides his mouth.

Fëanáro circled Maitimo's waist with one arm and started caressing the small of his back with his other hand. Maitimo quivered in his hold, clenching around his cock for a moment. 

“Nelyo, I love you so much,” he very softly said. He turned his head and laid it against Maitimo's chest. Maitimo's heartbeat thudded right under his ear, fast and loud. He breathed slowly and deeply, kissing Maitimo's slightly sticky skin from time to time. “So so much. You are my greatest joy, my dearest star.”

The words, the low silky rumble of his father's voice, relieved Maitimo, but not wholly: the sensation of having his father inside him was something too powerful, too new, something he didn't know how to handle yet. “I- I can't move,” he was forced to admit, his voice a choked whisper. He wasn't in pain, but it was as if his legs had turned to brittle glass and he didn't trust they would support him.

Fëanáro raised his head. “Do you want me to pull out?” 

“No, no...I want you to move...do something, please,” Maitimo entreated, biting on his lower lip, “...I just _want_ –”

“Okay, okay,” Fëanáro said, sounding almost as overwhelmed as Maitimo. “Nelyo – my love – look at me.”

Maitimo lowered his head so that he could lock his gaze with his father's. His eyes were glazed and a sheen of perspiration dampened his forehead, but he smiled. Fëanáro minutely pushed up, his hands returning to Maitimo's hips to keep a better control on the depth of penetration. 

The sensation – just an impossible stretch and a hot fullness until then – changed to small imperceptible jolts that had Maitimo's eyelids flutter in budding pleasure, and again to a more vigorous sliding which stimulated his inner walls in a way he had never imagined.

“It is...wonderful...too wonderful,” he groaned, as he was thrust into so deep he could almost sit on his father's thighs.

“I know,” Fëanáro breathed back, “it's the most beautiful thing to be so joined...and yet it is not without...strain, especially at first.”

“I-...I want to lie back.”

“As you wish, my beloved,” Fëanáro cooed and stretched up to kiss the tip of Maitimo's nose. 

He gently eased Maitimo off his cock. Both gasped when it slipped out, bemoaning the momentary loss of contact. Maitimo quickly lay back, splaying his thighs wide, glad to be rid of the pressure on his back and legs, and more aroused than even before.

Fëanáro made to crawl over him, but paused at the last moment. “Wait, let me get you a pillow.”

“I don't need a pillow,” Maitimo protested, his hands shooting out. They grabbed his father's sides, and pulled him towards himself. “I want all of you, now.”

Fëanáro chuckled. He slid forward on his knees, guided his cock to the now pliant opening, and re-entered it. His thrusts were slow and measured at first, but when Maitimo started to push back and match his movements, rolling his hips against him, he increased his speed, going in shallowly for a while then driving in as deep as he could go.

The strain Maitimo had experienced at first dissolved as the rocking of his body grew more feverish, more entrancing, the pleasure spreading to the very tip of his limbs in ever-renewed waves. He locked his hands around his father's back and mouthed a 'harder' that made his father gasp and almost crumple down.

“Don't...tempt me.” 

Maitimo's face lit up with the most radiant smile. His hands travelled up his father's back to his shoulders and to his face. He combed Fëanáro's hair away from it and held it back while his thumbs made circles on his cheeks. “My father,” he purred, “my light.”

“Nelyo –” Fëanáro moaned, his face scrunching in an expression between adoration and desperate need that Maitimo had never seen before. 

He thrust not any less vigorously, but more erratically. Maitimo soon learnt that if he contracted his muscles when his father was fully in, he would stay like that for a moment longer, and it would feel as if he could draw him even further in. 

“Do you -...want me to come inside you?”

Maitimo gave a decisive nod, then just as decisively raised his head and covered Fëanáro's mouth with his own. He felt Fëanáro whine inside his mouth, jerk sharply inside him. When he let go, Fëanáro's breathing was loud and ragged, and he struggled to keep moving. On his lips were Maitimo's name and a deluge of endearments that Maitimo took one by one with an even greater relish than he did his father's cock, music for an ecstasy that seemed to go on and on.

He slipped his right hand between their bodies, stroking himself in time with his Fëanáro’s thrusts. When his father stilled, he tugged forcefully on his own cock – not feeling any of the dissatisfaction and loneliness of any other time he had done this, for this time it sealed him into bliss together with his father. His warm seed sprayed his chest, and Fëanáro's filled his ass. 

His father gently eased himself out, but once his cock had popped out of Maitimo with a smacking sound, Maitimo furrowed his brow at the strange tingling it left in his ass.

“I have a soothing salve, if you need it,” Fëanáro promptly said, sitting back on his haunches.

Maitimo sat up and tackled him, and they ended up lying in each other's arms.

“It doesn't hurt. It's just...squishy, and sticky, and I feel very stretched.”

“That will pass, in a short while, and we'll take a bath.”

Maitimo shook his head once, idly flicking the tip of his tongue against his father's lips. “I'm not sure I want a bath. Rather...what will we do from now on?” 

Fëanáro brushed a few sweaty strands of hair from his expectant face. “Whatever you wish, whatever. We can do it every day, or never again...anything you want.”

Maitimo gave an amused snort. “Why would I want not to do it again? I think my inconvenient erections will become more unruly than ever from now on, if anything, and –”

“Hmm?”

“I think we will _really_ need a bigger bed.”

**Author's Note:**

> Shyraghym is a Kazakh term of endearment, meaning (literally) "my light".


End file.
